A Spot of Trouble
by Muffy Morrigan
Summary: Dean's had freckles his whole life. The ladies love them, so he's never really minded them. That is until one day one of them decides to go rogue.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: No, I haven't given up on Scream of the Butterfly or Gifts or anything else. Sometimes things happen and we need to write about them. Thank you to Trasan!!_

**A Spot of Trouble**

**Chapter One**

Wind whipped the trees into a fury as Dean pulled the Impala into the parking space outside the motel. It wasn't as seedy as some they'd stayed at recently, at least from the outside, and the office had been happily free of dirt and other questionable substances. Sometimes stumbling into a tourist town in the off-season had its advantages and cheap rooms in nicer motels was one of them. And they needed a break. They were both bruised and aching from the last hunt and Dean was looking forward to just crashing and watching a bad sci fi movie marathon and nothing else for a day or two.

"This place doesn't look too bad," Sam said as he got out of the car. "I'm worried."

"Why?" Dean opened the truck and grabbed his bag.

"With our luck lately, Dean?"

"Yeah. Should we open the door and toss in salt and holy water just in case?"

Sam laughed. "Maybe."

Dean opened the door cautiously, more to play along with Sam than anything else. It was a nice room, nicer than he'd expected. There was even a decent size fridge and stove in the corner. It smelled clean. He wasn't sure exactly how to describe the smell, but it was there, maybe it was the hint of bleach from the sheets or the vague scent of cleaning products. He dropped his bag on one of the beds and grinned at Sam. "Still worried?"

"Even more now." Sam grinned back and picked up the booklet by the phone. "Hey there's a Thai place that delivers to the motel."

"Order, I'm going to take a shower."

"What do you want?" Sam asked, flipping through the menu.

"Not tofu." He grabbed some clothes out of his bag and headed into the bathroom.

He stayed in the shower longer than he'd planned. The hot water was easing his headache and the aches in his back caused by coming into contact with a wall, a tree, a car and a brick driveway. It was also nice to enjoy the shower without having to keep a wary eye on some kind of strange slime growing in the corner of the stall. At the last motel they'd stayed at, he was sure he'd seen the stuff move at least once. Sam pounding on the door to announce the arrival of the food was finally the motivation to get out of the shower.

Glancing in the mirror as he got out, he scrubbed a hand over the days old beard he was sporting. The last motel had also been missing a mirror. Dean leaned forward, turning his head to get a better look at the bruise covering the left side of his face. It was an impressive bruise, no wonder the waitress last night had been so sympathetic. _Huh, what's that? _He moved closer, turning his head to catch the light. He couldn't be sure, and decided it was just the product of too little sleep and a huge bruise.

Sam was sitting on the other bed, a takeout container in his hand when Dean wandered out of the bathroom. Several bottles of beer sat on the table between the beds. Dean picked one up and frowned at the label. "What's this?"

"The only beer they had on the menu," Sam said with a grin. "It's not bad."

"Not bad or good?" Dean dropped onto his bed and sniffed the beer.

"I'm not sure. It's cold, how's that? And it goes good with the food."

"That works."

He picked up one of the food containers and leaned back with a sigh. After flipping through the channels several times and arguing with Sam about TV viewing choices—there was a documentary about mummies in the Andes that Sam was sure would be worth watching—they'd settled on a repeat of "Independence Day." Dean fell asleep before the final battle, the container of Thai food congealing on his chest.

The smell of coffee woke him. Dean opened an eye and looked for the source of the smell. The coffeemaker in the kitchen area was gurgling out the last of its water into the pot. He opened his other eye and sat up, glancing at the clock beside the bed. Ten-thirty, he'd slept almost thirteen hours but it felt good, he was still drowsy but the dragging exhaustion was gone. Getting out of bed, he noticed every single bruise as he moved. "I'm getting old," he muttered as he poured a cup of coffee. He was halfway through his second cup when Sam stepped out of the bathroom, steam billowing around him.

"What's the plan for today?" Sam asked.

"Food and TV?"

Sam smiled. "You don't want to head out today?"

"No, maybe tomorrow." He put his coffee down and walked into the bathroom. He paused by the mirror to look at the bruise again. _It is bigger. _He bent closer and took a good look. The freckle beside his left eye, the one that had been there his whole life was no longer a freckle. It was an ugly bump. It'd been a freckle a week before. A tiny wisp of dread curled through his chest. Freaked out freckles were rarely a good thing. Still, he might be imagining it.

Five days later, they were still there, and Dean had no complaints. His brother had managed to find a hunt, nothing big, just a routine salt and burn, but it served as enough of an excuse to keep them there. They'd gone through the entire menu of the Thai place and were working their way through the pizzas from the pub up the street. The dark circles from lack of sleep were finally gone from under Sam's eyes and Dean was more relaxed than he'd been in months.

Well, except for that damn freckle.

The bump was not only still there, but it had gotten bigger. At least he was sure it had. He kept waiting for Sam to mention it, thinking that if Sam hadn't noticed it was all in his head. Objectively he knew better, but he was willing to lie to himself a little longer. Sam had squinted at him once or twice, but hadn't said anything, so Dean wasn't worried.

Yeah, right.

He wasn't worried—most of the time. Every once in awhile a stray note of panic would creep into his brain and make his heart pound and his hands shake. A freckle getting bigger just wasn't a good thing. Maybe it wasn't actually a freckle gone bad? Maybe it was a blood blister left over from the well placed punch that gave him a black eye?

_Be honest, it's a freckle. A freckle that's going rogue._

And when that thought formed, the panic was back. Freckles didn't grow exponentially. Not when they'd been sitting there at the edge of his eye for his entire life. When he'd been eighteen a waitress in a town they were passing through had taken a particular liking to that freckle for some reason. That wasn't quite true, she had a thing for the freckles on his nose, but she'd mentioned that one several times.

He was staring at it in the bathroom mirror for the five thousandth time, feeling the odd stretch of skin there and poking at it, wondering if it was sore or not when he decided he had to do something. He'd actually made note of the medical clinic in town the day before when they were at the grocery store. It was a gleaming all glass building, tucked under two large pine trees. The garden out front boasted early winter flowers and there was a waterfall fountain beside the door. He figured it was a measure of his cool calm that he'd written down the number from the sign out front and kept it in his pocket.

After listening at the door to make sure the TV was on and Sam wouldn't hear, he dialed the number.

"Pines Medical," a woman with the perfect voice for phone sex answered the line.

"Hi, my name is Dean Perry," he said, using the name from his latest credit card. "I, um, I have a freckle that's gotten kind of big in the last two weeks."

"A freckle?"

"Yeah, it's been there for a long time, but it's more like a bump now," he said, feeling unbelievably stupid.

"Can you hold for a moment?"Without waiting for him to answer the line clicked and classical music started playing. He was getting ready to just hang up, when she was back. "Can you come in this afternoon?"

"What?"

"At three-ten?"

"This afternoon?"

"Yes, Dr. Ford wants to see you as soon as possible."

"Um, okay." He flipped the phone closed and wondered how the hell he would manage to ditch Sam.

His brother solved it for him, declaring he wanted to go to the bookstore for a few hours. Sam had fallen in love with the place the first time he'd wandered in, he'd disappeared and Dean had found him several hours later sitting in front of a shelf, books piled around him.

Dean dropped him off, telling him he'd be back before closing, Sam nodded absently and got out. Dean watched him go in, then headed to the clinic two blocks away. They had paperwork ready for him, and he filled it out, trying to ignore the nervous butterflies trying to gnaw their way out of his stomach. _It's just a mole or something, you're overreacting, so stop. _By the time they called him back, he'd left sweaty fingerprints on three issues of _National Geographic. _

They stopped by the scale on the way to the exam room and he made a lame joke about how he didn't think it was that big yet. The gray-haired nurse frowned at him and led him back without another word. He tried the jokes again when she took his blood pressure. Her frown deepened and she pumped the cuff up so tight Dean was pretty sure his arm was going to come off. She took his temperature and humphed at him, then took his pulse with a similar humph. She left with a curt "The doctor will be right back," and stomped out.

"Thanks," he said to the closed door and paced around the room. The magazine rack was full of parenting and cooking magazines, so he walked to the window and watched the water as it bubbled over the rocks in the fountain. His hands were shaking, he wiped them on his jeans and paced back across the room.

It was just a freckle, it had to be. It just got a little angry at him or something. Freckles did that right?

There was a soft tap on the door and the doctor came in, a tall man with dark hair. "I'm Dr. Ford. So, Dean, right?"

"Yeah."

"What brings you here today?"

"This freckle, it got kind of big."

"Sit on the exam table and let me take a look. How long has it been there?"

"The freckle?" Dean asked, hopping up on the table. "As long as I can remember."

"When did it start growing?"

"I first noticed it five days ago."

"Five days?" Dr. Ford turned Dean's head and gentle poked at his face.

"Yeah."

"Does it hurt?"

"It feels stretched and a little sore, I guess."

"Hmm."

"What's hmm, doc?" Dean asked, trying to still the panic in his chest. "It's just a freckle right?"

"Do you mind if I have a colleague come in?"

"Okay."

The doctor smiled at Dean and walked out. Once he was gone, Dean took several deep breaths and got off the exam table. He walked to the window and watched the water. A bird was hopping along the rocks. Dean's heart was pounding. This really wasn't a good time for a panic attack, it was just a freckle. A freckle. He heard the door open.

"Why are you here?" A harsh voice demanded. Dean turned, the mass of his brother filled the doorway.

"Sammy? What are you doing here?" Dean asked, actually relieved to see Sam.

"I went to get a cup of coffee and saw the Impala parked here." Sam closed the door carefully. "Well?" Sam huffed.

"How did you get back here?"

"I told them I was your brother."

"And they just let you back?"

"Yeah."

"Uh huh," Dean said. _He used the secret weapon. Damn, I wish I could do that. _

"Is it about that thing on your eye?" Sam asked, coming over to stand beside him.

"You noticed?"

"Dean..." Sam sighed and shoved his hand in his pocket. "Yes."

"Why didn't you mention it?" Dean said, looking at his brother. Sam gave him one of _those _looks. The tap on the door stopped whatever comment went with the look. Doctor Ford stepped back in, behind him was a small, heavy-set man with a Santa Claus beard. Dean walked over to the exam table and sat back down.

"This is Dr. Stern," Ford said. "He's a specialist."

"A specialist?" Sam asked, a squinch appearing. "What kind?"

"I'm an ophthalmologist," he said absently, moving Dean's head to get a better look at his face. "Hmm."

"Hmm? What's hmm?" Sam stepped closed.

"Who are you?" Dr. Ford asked.

"My brother, Sammy," Dean said.

"Hold still," Dr. Stern poked at his eye, made a humphing noise and pulled a small needle-looking thing and poked at the freckle. Dean hissed in pain, Sam tensed up and the doctor stepped away, tossing the needle into the sink. "Can you come in tomorrow?" he said.

"What?"

"I can't get you in today," Dr. Stern washed his hands and came over to them again.

"Why?" Sam said, hovering protectively at the edge of the exam table.

"We need to get that off, and biopsied."

"You can just take it off?" Dean sighed in relief. _Thank god._ Then the rest of it caught up with him. "Wait? Biopsied?"

"Yes, of course."

"But it just a freckle, right?" Dean asked. Sam put his hand on Dean's shoulder.

"No, son, I'm sorry. It's not just a freckle."

_**To Be Continued**_


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Thank you all for your patience with me over the last few months. I am slowly getting back into the swing of things. I hope to be posting more, including some new stories I have up my sleeve. Thank you all for reading and reviewing and thank you to TraSan. _

_A/N II: I am excited to announce the __**The Hunt**__:__** Book Two of the Custodes Noctis **__is now available from Amazon and other retailers. Look for promotional contests, giveaways and goodies coming soon!_

**A Spot of Trouble**

**Chapter Two**

The bookstore was quiet, the musty smell of old books swirling around Sam like an old friend. This particular store was fast entering his top ten, the selection surprising, especially considering the size of the town. He'd spent three happy hours several days before in the "unusual" books section, a mish-mash of everything from history to magic with a couple gardening books tossed in for good measure. Today his concentration kept wandering and without really thinking about where he was going, he found himself in front of the medical reference section, running his hand along a collection of books on diseases of the skin.

Dean's freckle was worrying him.

He'd noticed it when they first arrived, the spot that had been by Dean's eye for as long as he could remember looked less like a freckle and more like a bump. A bump that was getting bigger. When it first started getting larger, Sam had tried to convince himself it was just because of the black eye, or a pimple, or a bug bite, but he knew the truth. And worse, he was pretty sure Dean knew what was going on, was worried about it and had just bothered to not mention the fact he had a freckle that wasn't a freckle anymore.

Sam pulled the book off the shelf and flipped to the index, running his finger down the page until he found an entry that looked promising. Quickly turning to the page, he read through it, then went back to the index. By the time he'd gone through several books his worry had blossomed into panic. He put the last book on the shelf and sighed. His head ached, and there was a knot of tension throbbing at the back of his neck. He had to talk to Dean about the freckle, and he was going to drag his brother to the small clinic in town if he had to hit him over the head to get him there.

The freckle might be...

Sam shoved the thought away and ran a hand through his hair. The rich smell of coffee was wafting into the bookstore. He could pick up coffee and go find Dean. Then they could talk about what was going on—or knowing Dean, Sam would bitch, Dean would bitch and eventually Dean would capitulate, maybe, if Sam was lucky.

He headed out of the bookstore and was walking down the street towards the coffee shop when something caught his eye. Sam stopped, and looked again. In a parking lot four buildings down from the coffee shop the Impala was sitting next to the medical clinic. The panic thudding in his chest ramped up. Dean was voluntarily at the doctor.

Dean.

At the doctors.

Without a fight.

_Oh god. _

Sam was running before his conscious mind told him to move. He yanked the door of the clinic open and stepped in, casting a wild glance around the room. Dean wasn't there. The receptionist looked up with a frown, and everyone in the waiting room turned to stare at him. Sam shoved his hands in his pockets, huffed out a breath and walked to the check-in desk.

"Can I help you?" the receptionist asked, still frowning at him.

"Uh, yeah, my brother..." Sam stopped himself and started again. "My brother, Dean, came in for an appointment."

"You can wait for him over there," she said.

"I need to be back there!" Sam snapped. "Sorry." He sighed. "It's just that he's not good about taking his medicine unless I know." Her frowned deepened and Sam felt a blush creep up his cheeks. _Great, that made Dean sound like he was five._ "It's just, he... Uh..."

She suddenly smiled. "I understand, my little sister is the same way."

"It makes it hard sometimes," Sam said, letting her assume Dean was younger. He shook his head and smiled at her. "I really need to be back there, just for his own sake, you know?"

"I'm not sure, we're not supposed..."

"Please?" Sam hit her with what his brother termed _the look. _

"Uh..." She paused, then leaned forward. "Room four, on the left," she whispered.

"Thanks." Sam stepped quickly to the door, not letting her change her mind before he could get back. His hand was trembling when he reached for the knob, the palm slick with sweat. He was three steps inside when his heart started pounding, thudding against his rib cage with an all-to-familiar fear. He took a deep breath to calm the panic and opened the door. "Why are you here?" he asked. Dean looked up and Sam saw the relief wash over his brother's face.

"Sammy? What are you doing here?" Dean said, irritation in his voice.

"I went to get a cup of coffee and saw the Impala parked here." Sam closed the door carefully. "Well?"

"How did you get back here?" Dean took a step back so he was leaning against the wall by the window.

"I told them I was your brother." Sam stayed by the door, despite the relief, Dean had the look of a trapped animal in his eyes.

"And they just let you back?"

"Yeah."

"Uh huh."

Sam walked over towards him, being careful not to spook him, but unable to deal with the combined panic and fear on Dean's face. "Is it about that thing on your eye?"

"You noticed?" Dean asked, a surprised look on his face.

"Dean..." Sam sighed, wanting to strangle him. Of course he noticed. He shoved his hands in his pockets. "Yes."

"Why didn't you mention it?"

Sam looked at Dean. The urge to strangle his brother increased. He opened his mouth to answer when the door behind him opened. Dean looked at Sam and walked to the exam table and hopped up on it. Sam noticed the way Dean's hands were shaking. His brother was freaked. Sam faced the two men standing in front of them, silently daring them to ask him to leave.

"This is Dr. Stern," one of them said. "He's a specialist."

"A specialist?" Sam asked. _Specialist, Dean?_ "What kind?"

"I'm an ophthalmologist," he said absently, reaching out and moving Dean's head to the side. "Hmm."

"Hmm? What's hmm?" Sam stepped closer, close enough so his shoulder could just brush Dean's..

"Who are you?" the other one asked.

"My brother, Sammy," Dean said.

"Hold still," Dr. Stern pressed at the bump near Dean's eye, made a humphing noise and pulled a small needle-looking thing and poked at the freckle with it. Dean hissed in pain, Sam tensed up, resisting the urge to shout at the doctor. He really hated this, the mumblings and hmmings of the medical profession. He'd heard it so many times, usually when his brother's life hung in the balance. The doctor stepped away, tossing the needle into the sink. "Can you come in tomorrow?" he said to Dean.

"What?" Dean leaned against Sam a little.

"I can't get you in today," Dr. Stern washed his hands and came over to them again.

"Why?" Sam said, casting a glance at his brother.

"We need to get that off, and biopsied."

"You can just take it off?" Dean said in relief. Sam knew the instant Dean heard the rest of what the doctor had said, the blood drained from his face and the freaked look multiplied. "Wait? Biopsied?"

"Yes, of course."

"But it just a freckle, right?" Dean asked, his voice trembling. Sam put his hand on Dean's shoulder.

"No, son, I'm sorry. It's not just a freckle."

"What do you think it is?" Sam said, squeezing Dean's shoulder.

"I'm not sure, that's why we need the biopsy," Dr. Stern said. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Shannon will be right back with your appointment card," the other one said.

"Thanks." Dean slid off the table and stood stiffly, with his shoulders hunched, as the two doctors left.

They stood together in silence, until the door opened and a blond woman came in. "We've scheduled you for tomorrow at 12:15. You need to check in half an hour before your appointment. Don't wear contacts and make sure you bring a ride."

"Thank you," Sam said, taking the card she was holding out. She was gone before he could ask any questions.

Dean followed her out, Sam trailed after him, wondering what he should say. The word biopsy was pinging back and forth through Sam's head, distracting him as he walked behind his brother. With that word came others, none of them good. He sighed.

"Sam," Dean began, shook his head, and opened the car door. He started the engine before Sam dropped into the seat and pulled out before the door was all the way closed. "It's just a freckle," Dean snapped. "It is, it's just a freckle."

Sam couldn't suppress a huff.

"It is, it's a freckle that went rogue."

"Rogue?"

"Yep." Dean tried for a grin.

"Dean..."

"It's a freckle. A rogue freckle."

"Who are you trying to convince?" Sam huffed.

Dean clenched his jaws and his hands tightened on the wheel, his knuckles showing white. Sam waited for the explosion—but it never came. "I don't know," Dean whispered.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"It's just a freckle." Before Sam could correct him, Dean continued. "I thought it was just a freckle that was a little angry."

"Like that cut you got in Wyoming was just a little angry?"

"Just like that." Dean beamed.

"You almost lost your leg," Sam reminded him.

"Well, yeah, but it was just a little cut."

"Uh huh."

"This is just a freckle."

"A rogue freckle?"

"Arr, matey."

"What?"

"That's pirate talk, Sammy." Dean chuckled, it was forced. "You want to get something to eat?"

"Eat?"

"Yeah, that pub down the street from the motel has strawberry pie tonight. There was a big sign in the window."

_Trust Dean to notice the pie signs._ "Sure, Dean."

"Good."

Dean drove in silence the rest of the way, parking close to the door and leading the way into the dark pub. They found a table towards the back of the room and both ordered a beer. When the waitress returned with their drinks they ordered dinner.

"Are you really going to eat that?" Sam said when she left.

"What?"

"A burger with onions rings on it?"

"Onion rings, guacamole and bacon," Dean said with a grin. He took a drink of beer and looked across the room, unrolled the napkin from around the silverware, glanced at Sam, took another drink, straightened the salt and pepper so it was in line with the ketchup bottle, ran a finger around the top of his glass, glanced at Sam, took another drink, moved the knife and fork so they were at the edge of the table, and glanced at Sam.

"Dean."

"What?"

Sam raised his eyebrows and looked at him, wondering how to start the conversation they needed to have. Dean could be stubborn, as the incident in Wyoming proved. More than often not that unwillingness to talk—or admit there was a problem—had disastrous results.

"Knock it off," Dean said after several seconds.

"What?"

"That looking thing."

"The what?"

"The looking thing, I can hear you thinking from here."

"Dean, I..."

The waitress appeared with their order, Dean stuffed his burger in his mouth so fast, Sam suspected he was using the food as an excuse to avoid talking to him. Every time Sam started to talk, Dean would shove something else in his mouth. Sam finally gave up and let his brother eat in peace, figuring that they could talk when they got back to the motel. Dean ordered pie, then another drink for both of them. By the time they headed out, they were both tipsy enough that Dean double checked the car, and they walked back to their room.

When they got there, Dean grabbed his stuff and headed into the shower and Sam dropped onto his bed. The panic he'd been ignoring all night was suddenly back, pounding in his head, making his hands shake, the word biopsy back bouncing around his head like a crazed ball. He pressed his hand against his mouth, trying to still the worry and stop the tears that were threatening to burn in his eyes. Sam got up and grabbed his laptop, waiting impatiently while it powered up. He surfed through several sites about skin cancers, skin growths and skin infections, none of them helping his continuing panic. He slammed the computer closed.

"Hey," Dean said softly.

Sam looked up, his brother dropped onto the other bed, sitting across from him. Dean had a bleak look on his face. "Hey."

"Thanks for showing up this afternoon." Dean sighed. "I should have told you."

"Yeah," Sam agreed carefully.

"Sammy, I... I really didn't think it was anything to worry about."

"You made an appointment with a doctor."

"I thought they could take it off, I didn't want it to ruin my..."

"Dean," Sam growled, hearing the panic in his voice. "Stop."

"It's just a freckle," Dean said quietly. He rubbed the back of his neck, then stared at his hands.

"Dean..." Sam moved and sat down beside his brother, letting their shoulders touch. It didn't seem like enough—he had no idea how to respond to the fear in his brother's voice, to the fear pounding in his own chest. This wasn't something they could fight, it wasn't something he could just research and find and answer to, it seemed huge and terrifying. "It's going to be okay," he said, feeling at a loss.

Dean nodded mutely, then turned and met Sam's gaze. "Oh god, Sammy," he whispered, "what if...?"

The words hung in the air between them.

"We'll deal with it, Dean, no matter what." Sam didn't know if that was the right thing to say, the fact that Dean admitted that fear was enough to set Sam's heart thudding painfully against his ribs. His brother leaned against him and Sam could clearly see the former freckle turned menacing monster marring the side of Dean's face. Tears burned in his eyes as he looked at it. _Oh god, what if...?_

_**To Be Continued**_


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: This was actually finished before the episode aired on Thursday, but I figured we would all be freaking about what was going to happen, then freaking about what had happened. I would like to thank you all for your patience with me lately. Real life is... I feel like I live in a CW soap. Thank you all for your wonderful reviews and support, I can't say how much they mean, I was reminded in the past two week how much you all mean. I have found family here, and I can't thank you all enough! Here is a huge Dean to Sam, Sam to Dean kind of hug for you. Thank you to TRaSan_

**A Spot of Trouble**

**Chapter Three**

Bright morning sun slanted through a tiny crack into the curtains, managing to find a searing path into Dean's brain. He groaned and rolled over. The combination of beer, burgers, tequila and a bag of M&Ms wasn't sitting well, it wasn't quite a hangover, but it wasn't fun. Cracking an eye open, he peered at the clock, it was only nine. He sat up and noticed the bump of the freckle gone rogue out of the corner of his eyes. Without thinking, he raised a hand to scratch it, then stopped when he realized just how big it had gotten.

"Hey," Sam said. He was sitting at the table, laptop open, a pile of paper beside him.

"Hey," Dean answered. "How long have you been up?"

"Not long."

Dean didn't bother to call Sam a liar, they both knew he was lying, judging by the paper and the bleary look on Sam's face, his brother probably hadn't even been to bed. Dean sighed as he stood, he caught a glimpse of himself and the angry freckle in the mirror and quickly looked away. "Can I eat?" He couldn't remember if they'd said anything about eating or not, he'd heard the word biopsy and his brain had turned off.

"What?"

"Can I have breakfast? I mean, did they say anything about..." He stopped, it was too late, Sam's forehead curled into a tight frown.

"They didn't say you couldn't. Do you want to get breakfast?"

"The all-you-can-eat pancakes?" Dean tried for a grin, it almost worked.

"Sure." Sam closed the computer.

Dean dressed quickly and they walked to where they'd left the Impala the night before. As he went to open the door, he caught his reflection in the window and looked away. It was getting hard to ignore the bump, and every time he got a glimpse of it the stupid thing started to ache. When they got to the restaurant, he actually sat with his back partially towards to door to avoid looking in the huge mirror that dominated one wall. He saw his brother frown, but Sam didn't say anything. Dean wondered how he'd managed to ignore the freckle for so long, he knew it had been getting bigger, but this last week it had been growing exponentially, and he'd been denying it was even there.

"Dean?"

"Huh?" Dean looked up.

"Do you want coffee?" Sam's voice was full of concern.

"Of course," Dean snapped. He swallowed. "Sorry," he said to Sam when the waitress left with their order.

"It's okay, Dean."

"Yeah." Dean sipped his coffee, he was halfway through his second cup when Sam reached over and put a hand on his knee to stop his leg bouncing. He scowled at Sam and set the cup down. He watched the waitress bringing the food to the table, she put it down in front of him and the smell suddenly made him sick. The sweet scent of maple syrup reacted with the insane butterfly buzzing around in his stomach and made everything unappetizing. He pushed the plate away, saw his brother squinch, and pulled the plate back, doing his best to eat.

"We should get going," Sam said softly.

"What?"

"It's almost time to check in."

"It is?" The butterfly stepped up its attack, bouncing through Dean's stomach and attempting to flutter up his throat.

"Yeah." Sam frowned.

"I'm okay," Dean said automatically.

"Sure."

"I am."

"Yeah."

Dean led the way out of the diner. When he went to unlock the car door he realized his hands were shaking so badly he couldn't get the key into the lock. Taking a deep breath, he tried again, studiously ignoring his brother's concerned look. _If I don't get it biopsied they can't tell me its... _

"Do you want me to drive?"

"Hell no," Dean said, sliding behind the wheel. He started the car, hoping the sound of the engine might calm his nerves. For the first time in his life it didn't work, the engine meant the car was on which meant he was headed to the doctor. What the hell had he been thinking? Doctors always mean trouble, and now? Now he had a freckle that went rogue and needed to be... When they got to the clinic he paced across the lot, stopping at the doors to take a few slow breaths. His hands were sweating. He couldn't open the door, if he went in it meant, or it could mean, they might tell him...

Sam reached around him and pushed the door open, gently nudging him inside. He led Dean to the reception window and smiled at the girl sitting there. "Dean has an appointment."

"I remember," she winked at Sam and put several papers in front of Dean with a pen. "You need to sign these so we can treat you today."

"Okay," Dean said, scribbling "Dean Perry"on the bottom of the forms.

"Wait." Sam stopped him and picked up one of the papers to read over it. "What meds?"

"Just something to relax him a little and then the local."

"Let me have it." Dean grabbed the paper out of his brother's hand and signed it, shoving it back across the counter to the girl. "Anything else?"

"No, have a seat, we'll call you back in a minute."

Dean walked over and slouched in a chair, when Sam sat down, Dean shifted enough so their shoulders were in contact. He felt Sam's look, but stared at his hands. There was a TV in the corner tuned to a nature documentary, the narrator rambling on about crocodiles or something. The freckle was pulsing on his face, in a counterpoint to the clock that was on the wall over his head. _Tick, throb, tick, throb, tick, throb, tick, throb._

"Dean Perry?"

"Here." He stood and turned to Sam. "Coming?"

"Yeah!" Sam stood quickly.

They followed the nurse to the back. There was a faint scent lingering on the air that his brain recognized, but couldn't identify at first, when he did, he nearly lost breakfast. It was barely there, but the smell of burned flesh was mixed with the medicinal scent of the office. He swallowed the rush of nausea nervously as the nurse led them into a room.

It seemed empty when he first walked in, nothing there but a lounge-like chair and a huge light over the chair. She gestured for Dean to settle himself in the lounge. He handed his coat to Sam with a smile. His brother dropped the coat on a hard-backed chair in one corner of the room and came to stand beside him.

"I'm going to give you something to help you relax before the doctor comes in," the nurse said.

Dean barely had time to nod before he felt a prick and sting in his arm. Whatever it was hit him fast, one minute the butterfly was pinging madly through his chest and the next he was flooded with a warm floating sensation. When the door opened sometime later, he felt like he was wrapped in molasses.

"How do you feel?" Dr. Stern asked, walking up to the bed.

"Awesome."

The doctor looked pointedly at Sam, Dean fumbled for his brother's hand. He didn't want to be alone for this, he couldn't be.

Sam's hand closed over his. "I'm staying," Sam growled.

The doctor flinched, then nodded. "Okay." He disappeared from Dean's line of sight for a moment, returning with a syringe in his hand. "This might sting. You'll want to close your eyes."

"Yeah," Dean mumbled, tightening his hand on Sam's, his brother rested his other hand on Dean's chest. He closed his eyes, focused on that and let himself drift.

**XXX**

The doctor was keeping a wary eye on Sam as he swabbed the side of Dean's face. Sam could tell the man wanted him out of the room, but there was no way Sam was leaving his brother. Despite the drugs in his system, Dean was holding onto his hand with a death grip**, **if the doctor really though he would leave, he had another thing coming. Sam moved a little closer to the chair, looming over the small man.

"M'brother stays," Dean muttered, shifting in the chair.

Sam patted his chest gently. "I'm right here, Dean."

"Good."

"He needs to hold still," the doctor snapped, a long needle in his hand. "Don't move."

"Sammy?"

"It's okay, Dean, just hold still for a minute, okay? Can you do that?"

"Course," his brother said, somehow holding onto Sam's hand even tighter.

"Go ahead," Sam told the doctor.

Putting a hand on Dean's forehead, the doctor slid the needle into the area by Dean's eye. Sam swallowed, but didn't look away as the doctor moved the syringe around. He finally pulled it out, it seemed to take forever, and used the needle to poke the bump beside his eye. "Can you feel that?"

"Wha...?" Dean answered. "Feel?"

"Do you feel something on your face, Dean?" Sam asked.

"Feel?" Dean repeated, his face—half of it at least—scrunching up in confusing.

"Can you?" Sam prompted.

"No." His voice sounded a little panicked. "Am I s'posed to?"

"No, Dean. It needs to be numb."

"Is."

"Okay, are you ready?" Sam said, nodding the doctor.

"Yeah. Wan' t'over."

"It will be in just a minute." Sam watched the doctor roll a tray over, there were several scalpels and other items on it.

"Here we go, son," the doctor said kindly, picking up one of the scalpels.

"Sammy?"

"Here." Sam clasped his other hand around Dean's.

Sam watched as the silver blade slid into Dean's skin, blood welling around it. He swallowed hard, but kept watching as the doctor carefully cut the freckle-turned-monster out of his brother's face. When he was finished, he cauterized the area, the scent of burning skin filled the room, making Sam gag. And just like that it was over, the doctor put ointment on the wound and bandaged Dean's eye.

"Doctor?" Sam asked.

"It was bigger than I thought, we will let you know the results in two days."

"But?" He heard the 'but' as plainly as if it had been said.

"It doesn't look good." The man met his eyes for a moment, and looked away. "We'll give you a prescription for pain, it's going to hurt for a few days."

"Thank you."

"Wanna go, Sammy," Dean said, his unbandaged eye opening slowly. He blinked at Sam and tried to sit up. The doctor looked at Dean in surprise. "Wanna go now," Dean pleaded.

"Can we go?" Sam put his hand behind Dean's back and helped him sit up. He really didn't care what the doctor said, if Dean wanted to go, he could go, even if it meant Sam would carry him.

"Go." Dean moved to swing his legs and started sliding off the chair.

"Easy," Sam said, lifting Dean to his feet and steadying him with a hand under his arm. "I'll take him to the car, then come back for the prescription." He steered Dean past the doctor and out of the building. Dean was stumbling along beside him and when they reached the car, Sam had to hold his brother up with one hand while he opened the door. After easing Dean onto the passenger seat, he tapped his brother's shoulder to get his attention. "Stay here, Dean. Stay," he said sternly.

"Woof."

Sam chuckled as he closed the door. Sometimes drugs hit Dean harder than other times, or maybe it was a particular one, he had no idea, but despite the worry pounding in his head, he had to laugh. His brother was well and truly stoned. He double checked the door before heading in to get the prescription. The receptionist was chatting at him while he waited—about when they would call and how her younger sister was just like Dean and on and on, when a nurse appeared and finally handed over the slip of paper, Sam was ready to jump out of his skin. He could see Dean, but it didn't stop the near-panic throbbing in his chest.

"Dean?" he said as he opened the door.

"Hmmm?" Dean rolled his head to look at Sam, then frowned, lifting a hand towards the bandage on his eye.

"Stop." Sam grabbed his wrist and held his hand away from his face.

"Can't see out of that eye."

"It's bandaged, Dean."

"Oh yeah, the freckle." He stayed with his head turned towards Sam and closed his good eye.

Sam pulled out of the parking lot and turned to go to the pharmacy. Luckily they had a drive-thru window, and he really didn't want to risk leaving a doped-up Dean in the car alone for long. It always took longer at the drive-thru. Maybe that was because if he was in the drive-thru it mean he was in a hurry and chances were it was a life or death situation.

"What'd they say?" Dean mumbled, opening his eye.

"Say?"

"'Bout the freckle."

"They'll call in two days."

"'Kay." His eye slid closed again.

**XXX**

Something was shaking him, pulling him out of the warm blanket of sleep. Dean batted at the hand on his shoulder, pushing it away and trying hunch back under the covers, but he couldn't seem to get a good hold on the blankets.

"Dean, come on, just wake up enough to get into the room."

"Huh?"

"It's not far, okay?" Sam was tugging on him.

"Sleeping."

"I know, but you can't stay in the car."

"Not in the car."

"Yes, you are."

Dean opened his eyes, only one opened. He blinked at the seat. "I'm in the car!" he said indignantly.

"I know." Sam pulled on his arm and Dean slid obediently out of the Impala. When he tried to stand, his brother steadied him with a hand under his arm. "I'm going to help, okay?"

"Okay." Dean blinked again. "Something's wrong with my eye." He reached up towards it, but Sam stopped him. "Sammy?"

"There's a bandage on it."

"I get hit?"

"Sorta." Sam's chuckle sounded a little strained.

"You okay?" Dean asked as he tried to remember what happened.

"I'm fine."

"Good." He closed his eye and sagged against Sam. "Wanna sleep."

"Just a few more steps, okay?"

"Okay." He let Sam guide him into the room—at least he assumed it was the room, the soft breeze on his face was suddenly gone. What happened? Why was his eye bandaged? "The freckle!" he exclaimed as Sam helped him lay down and pulled his shoes off.

"What?"

"My eye, the freckle. S'what's wrong."

"Yeah. Get some sleep."

"'Kay, Sammy," he heard himself mumble even as sleep claimed him. The weight of a blanket settled over him as he drifted off.

A vague throbbing wound its way into Dean's dream, the world shifting the way it did in dreams until the landscape changed and he was trapped with a bird pecking at his eye. He tried to get it off his face, but it wouldn't go, the beak driving into his eye over and over. With a gasp, he woke and found himself staring at the ceiling, no birds in sight. Dean took a deep breath and let it out slowly, hoping to calm the frantic beating of his heart. The problem was, the further the dream receded, the more reality crept back in, and he was beginning to think the fast destruction of the bird would be better than what was actually happening. The best of the worst would be losing his eye.

"You're not going to lose your eye," Sam said gently.

"What?"

"You're not going to lose your eye," Sam repeated.

_Did I say that out loud? _Dean turned his head to look at his brother. Sam was sitting at the table, laptop open and once again surrounded by papers, he was frowning in concern. "Looking for a hunt?" Dean asked, pushing himself up and shifted the pillows so he could lean against the headboard.

"No." Sam ran a hand through his hair.

"What did they say?" Dean had a vague recollection he'd asked before, but he couldn't remember the answer. "Sam?"

"They'll call in two days." He paused and looked away, Dean waited. "He said it didn't look good."

"Did he say anything else?" Dean said, worry creeping into his voice.

"He didn't really have a chance." Sam huffed. "You decided it was time to go."

"Yeah." He stood, swaying for a moment beside the bed.

"Dean..." Sam was halfway out of his chair before Dean could take a step.

"I need to take a leak," Dean growled, he headed into the bathroom, turning away from the mirror in the corner of the room. As much as he had hated seeing the freckle, he hated seeing the bandage even more. Navigating with only one usable eye was difficult and as he blinked he could feel the muscles in his bandaged eye twitch, worse yet, he noticed how many things he could actually see his reflection in, not just mirrors and windows. The coffee pot, a metal plaque on the wall... He turned away and managed to completely avoid looking in the mirror in the bathroom. When he was finished, he took a deep breath and stepped back into the main room. The throb on his face was quickly becoming pain.

"Here," Sam said, holding out a pill.

Dean squinted at it, recognizing the imprint on the tablet. _And how sad is that?_ "Vocodin?"

"Yeah. Take it."

"No, I'm okay." He flopped back on the bed and realized that the mirror in the corner was now draped with a towel and the curtains had been shifted so that the light was still coming into the room, but the glass was screened from Dean. He looked up at his brother who was still holding the pill out. Dean scowled, but took it. "Thanks." _For the mirror, window, everything, Sammy._

"Yeah," Sam said, his voice full of understanding. He walked to the fridge and brought a Coke back, handing it to Dean before sitting on the edge of the bed.

"What if...?" Dean began, the words out before he could stop them. _I can blame the drugs later. _

"There's no what if, Dean, you'll be okay."

"What if it's..." He still couldn't bring himself to say the word. "What if I lose my eye? Or what if it's worse than that?"

"You said it before, it's just a freckle, Dean. I was researching it, and it can happen sometimes."

"Yeah, cancer just happens." There, he said it.

"It can, but this probably isn't... cancer." Sam hesitated on the word. "It's probably just a freckle gone rogue."

"How can you make a joke?" Dean snapped, fear turning to anger as he spoke.

"But, Dean, you said..."

"What, that this," he gestured towards the bandage and his aching face, "this is some kind of joke? A freckle gone rogue like some pirate?" Dean sat up and took a breath, he'd said those words to Sam. He had. His brother was frowning at him in concern, his eyes bright. "Sammy," he said, ducking his head and running the back of his neck.

"It's okay. It's just a freckle," Sam whispered. Dean could tell his brother didn't believe the statement at all, from the way Sam's hands were clasped so tight his knuckles show white, Sam was completely panicked.

"I have a bad feeling about this, Sam." He sighed. "Every since I noticed it, I knew."

"Knew what?"

"That it was bad. I never thought it would end like this, you know? Taken out by something this small."

"No," Sam said fiercely. "No, this is not taking you out!"

"It might, Sammy. At best, I'll lose an eye."

"What? That is not the best!" Sam stood and paced away his back to Dean, his shoulders hunched forward. Sam huffed, then turned around. "It's going to be okay."

"It's not!" Dean shouted.

"It is!" Sam shouted back.

"IS NOT!"

"IS!"

"NOT!" Dean stood up, the room flipped around him. He heard his brother call his name as he fell. Sam caught him, easing him back onto the bed. Dean kept his eye closed, swallowing the nausea that was suddenly threatening to overwhelm him. "Remind me not to do that again," he said when he managed to get his eye open.

"Yeah." Sam smiled wanly. He huffed and sat on the bed, dropping his hand on Dean's chest. "It's going to be okay."

Dean put his hand over Sam's, feeling the fuzziness of pain meds starting to creep into his brain. "And if it's not?"

"It will be," Sam said earnestly. "But if it's not, we deal."

"With cancer? With one eye?"

"With a freckle."

"Even if it's gone rogue?" Dean smiled.

"Even if it's gone rogue."

"With a ship and cannons?"

"What?" Sam laughed. "Yeah."

"Sam..."

"It _will_ be okay."

"Don't think it will." He closed his eye.

"It will."

"It's bad, Sammy," Dean whispered, tightening his grip on Sam's hand.

"No it's not, Dean,"Sam replied gently.

"Yeah, it is."

"I am not going to argue about this again," his brother huffed.

"I'm not arguing," Dean said, wondering if Sam would take the bait.

"Yes, you are." Huff.

"No, I'm not."

"You are!"

"Not!" Dean couldn't stop the grin.

"You..." Sam stopped, Dean could imagine the look on his brother's face, no need to peek. "Shut up." He chuckled. "Get some sleep, Dean."

"Yeah." Dean drifted. "Hey, Sammy?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

Two days. Two days that took forever, and were gone before he knew it. Two days of jumping when his phone rang. Two days of a throb on his face that got worse every time he thought of it. Two days of dreams of birds taking his eye, of freckles drowning him, or something eating away at his body. Two days of looking away from every reflective surface as if it contained a demon.

Sam worked hard to distract him. The day after the procedure they went to a movie—an actual movie—and had incredibly expensive popcorn and Cokes and when the film was over, they sneaked into the theater next door and watched that film as well, getting free refills on the Coke and popcorn, until they had passed the day like they had when they were children. After the movie, they went stopped by the pub, ate food that had to give Sam epic heartburn and played darts until the bartender threw them out. Dean was surprised they hadn't been thrown out as soon as they started playing, having only one eye made his aim less than perfect.

As soon as Dean was awake the next morning, Sam had him out the door. At breakfast, then to a farmer's market at the far end of town. At first, Dean protested, a farmer's market? But it turned out that local arts and crafts and organic vegetables were "just really awesome, Sammy" when he was on Vicodin. The girl at the espresso stand noticed his bandaged eye and asked about it. Dean gave her the full-wattage smile, and she gave them both free blended coffees. A little frou-frou for Dean's taste, but it was free and Sam was enjoying his.

They were halfway through the market when Dean's phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and stared at it. Blinking at the number. "Doctor's office, I think," he said to his brother.

"Answer it!" Sam said.

"No." Dean shoved the phone into his brother's hand. "You do it."

"Fine," Sam huffed and answered.

_Oh, god. _Dean shifted nervously. He didn't want to know, didn't want to hear.

"Yes?" Sam said into the phone. "Yes." He frowned and glanced at Dean. "What does that mean? Uh huh." He swallowed, his eyes bright. "Thank you!" Sam closed the phone and looked at Dean with a smile so wide it had to hurt.

Dean met his brother's eyes, seeing the answer there without Sam speaking. He sagged against his brother in relief, his hands trembling as he took several deep breaths to calm the slamming of his heart. After a moment he pushed himself away from Sam.

"See, Sammy, I told you, it was just a freckle," he said with a smirk.

"Yeah, Dean," Sam answered, smiling, his eyes shining with tears. "You did."

_**The End**_

_A/N II: On a personal note, I learned the hard way, my mother had a serious stroke two weeks ago today. I beg you all to learn the signs and symptoms of a stroke. Minutes—seconds—make a difference. Time lost is brain lost. Please, for you and your loved ones, take a minute and learn the signs! And if you even suspect it might possibly may be be a stroke do not hesitate to call for help!_


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